


Perfect.

by saderaladon



Category: Naruto
Genre: Asexuality, Changing Tenses, Drama, Kinky surgery, M/M, POV Third Person, Translation, creepy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: Sasori remembers his time working with Orochimaru.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Совершенный](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/280815) by hatschi waldera. 



> Okay, so this is my translation of my own fic. Original story was posted at WTF 2015 fan competition with me being a part of Akatsuki team.  
> Basically, the thing was written for the creepy sex part and the kinky surgery part. I put some fancy wrapping around it, but do not let it distract you. :)  
> Now, the kinky surgery part raised some questions about it not being very realistic, which I want to address here. The characters of this story are a wooden doll with meters and meters of poisoned rope inside his belly and a guy who has a nasty habit of flying his head around using the elongated neck. So leaving aside the question of vertebrae and bowel movement I want to say that I don't consider them people. They think they are, but they are too fucked up to know better. So yes, this is a story about two disturbed creatures made of murderous goo with bits of philosophy sticking out of their heads. Wouldn't have them any other way. :)
> 
> English is not my native language. Translation is not betad. Feel free to laugh at my grammar.

Sasori soon starts to think that he is ideal. Not just an ideal partner, though that too, but an ideal person, if any person could be regarded as such. Of course, Sasori would've preferred to work alone. Of course, Leader had his reasons. Of course, those reasons being sound didn't help anything. He spent hours, trying to solve the puzzle. Partnership seemed distant, nearly impossible. He had no desire to obey, he wasn't particulary interested in being in command either, hierarchy wasn't really his thing. The remaining possibility was to have that sort of a relationship that isn't exactly one, when everyone just minds their own business, and duties… Well, duties are duties. Forgery, that what it was, not a relationship. So he continued thinking.  
No plan had to be used in the end: working with Orochimaru was… soothing and convenient, even pleasant. In almost no time Sasori, even though it surprises him, finds himself calling their relationship a partnership.  
Orochimaru is quite an excellent partner: he meticulously does what he's supposed to. It has a fairy-tale touch to it: the things he does are exactly those Sasori would like to avoid: all the long polite negotiations, innuendos, covert threats, lying and lying with a skill. It is not something he is good at. Rather then manipulate the mind he'd manipulate the chakra, it is more precise that way.  
Orochimaru is also an amazing man. After all the work he did, Sasori still knows he has weak spots. There're things that anger him, things he doesn't want to face, things he'd be happy to forget. Things he cannot accept, no matter how hard he tries. Orochimaru, it seems, doesn't suffer from any of this. He doesn't get embarrassed, discrepancies fuel his curiosity, little funny flaws and defects amuse him. The big ones he immediately corrects. And what he would never do is reject something he merely doesn't like.  
At first, Sasori… envies him. There's also a disstressing doubt: what if my path is worse than his, what if I did it all wrong. He doesn't sink as far as to feel dissappointed, it's not in his nature and he knows perfectly well how to assess — himself or the others. So he quits being envious and starts admiring. Yes, he says to himself, his way isn't mine, but, being different, it is still concordant. If people cannot be me, let them be him.  
This consistency of Orochimaru's path doesn't mean discarding any of the possibilites: he stays very open to every single human emotion, he indulges in activities Sasori can only call useless. He embraces those little funny flaws and defects of the world. All shinobi, especially those as powerful as Orochimaru, lose a part of themselves in attempts to gain abilities, that is certain. But when Sasori looks at him, he can see no loss, only the equilibrium.  
They discuss these matters. The philosophy of being a shinobi, what you pay for the techniques, perfection of the self. They discuss it many times. Sasori never falters, again and again he repeats the conclusion he reached over the years: to create a statue the sculptor must carve into the stone, remove the material, which might seem indispensable at the moment, but is worthless in the end. Only things that suffer are able to endure.  
— Oh, you're so keen on this austerity! — Orochimaru's laugh is friendly. He waves his hand towards Hiruko. — Well, no surprise here, you do spend all your days in that ugly thing.  
— So you're saying, — Sasori persists, as if acting out a play, — it is better to be stuck where you are to avoid the suffering?  
— Oh why? — Orochimaru always sounds astonished at that moment. — Take what you need and move on. You cannot get all you want, so why create more losses?  
— Catchy tune, — he snaps; Sasori's well aware how their discussions end. — But you can't deny the need for reserve. Or do you? Should we, maybe, just chase the dream?  
They agree on this. It is also through this that Orochimaru's consistency is refined. He does drink from every well, but he never loses his calm, never becomes a victim of the sweet taste. Intemperance disgusts them both.  
Orochimaru winces in repulsion:  
— Abominable! Surely you don't just forgo all the restraints. But still, Sasori, your theories are too akin to asking favors from a tree to get used to rejection.  
— Say what you will, — Sasori concedes, — but they aren't theories, it is the art I practice. And it works, as you well know.  
Orochimaru sighs and nods, complying, as if to say «yes, I do». Then Sasori occupies himself with creating new weapons for his puppets, because you always can add something deadlier, and after their arguments his head just swarms with ideas about exactly that. Orochimaru, in his turn, rests by the fire or on the cot and reads, his breathing slow and steady.  
They do argue a lot. And constantly talk. About everything. Orohimaru is essentially a walking collection of opinions. Sasori can't name anything he didn't study extensively. There's nothing he pays zero interest to. So Sasori regulary finds himself in a middle of extremely bizarre conversations. There's kitchen utensils and cutlery. Traditional masonry, going centuries back, common in the last area they worked in. Obituaries, the ones people print in the newspapers and the ones they put on the fences, because those, Orochimaru insists, are completely different things. The dialects of languages, spoken in remote mountains. Magic, spells and all sorts of religious cults; Orochimaru is particulary ruthless about this topic, and it is not like usually he is all mercy and compassion. They talk about ducks, heart deseases, caves and caverns, alkaline lakes and that unique and elegant way of plumbing that utilizes the delicate force of gravity. About metaphors for the sunset in the poetry of the country of Fire… Well, Orochimaru tries that one, but Sasori refuses point-blank: there's no other art but his own.  
They discuss the techniques. The methods of killing. Poisons. They talk about death, funny enough, but only in a suitably terrible weather, in complete darkness, almost wispering.  
Many of those talks Sasori remembers by heart and now, well, now, when his new partner is like a bomb waiting to explode, he quotes from them, sometimes even aloud. It is rather amusing to state Orochimaru's opinions as his own. And they also never fail to daunt Deidara.  
He cherishes those talks, in all honesty. That one about suicidal fools, for example.

— Idiots, — Orochimaru sputters, when they are leaving the residence with the money. They were hired to deal with the terrorist group trying to undermine daime's position and to turn the people against him.  
— Who? — Sasori asks him, not really caring. He is occupied with finding the right pose inside Hiruko.  
— The terrorists. A bunch of idiouts! You want your daime gone? Alright, I can relate to that, the old fart's been around for far too long… If anything, I would've killed him myself were I not on a mission. Cannot stand the ones who don't know it's time to go: he can't sit upright, can't catch his breath, he would just collapse if you touch him, but no, oh no, he isn't leaving…  
Orochimaru's lips are a thin furious line. Sasori giggles: sometimes even Orochimaru loses his cool. It's only his speech, of course, when it comes down to business he's logical and focused. Still it means that he's only human. It means Orochimaru is perfect, but not more so than Sasori is.  
— But the methods, the methods! — Orochimaru continues. — Who works like this? Kamikaze attacks, selected places, they even take breaks!  
— So what's the problem with selected places and breaks? Isn't it how we work? — Sasori attempts to push him further. Orochimaru has things to say and Sasori doesn't mind listening: he is not an expert on terrorism, he only joined Akatsuki because his job was clear. If he doesn't like something, he kills it and sometimes makes it into a puppet. But terrorism, it seems, has a different agenda, it aspires to prove a point, to convince people of something. That Sasori just doesn't get.  
— You don't know a thing about terrorism! — Orochimaru confirms his conclusions.  
The anger on his face quickly dissipates, now it is excitement all over. Orochimaru speaks passionately, but he is in control now: he is a scientist, not a maniac. Sasori is amazed. It would take him much longer than three minutes to calm down. More like three hours, really.  
— People need dead heroes as their leaders even less than ancient jerks. Death wish only attracts easily agitated morons. Most people want to live. And they want to live a good life. So no kamikazes… No, just think, they lose hundred fighters a year, and it is all the training just wasted, all the brain-washing for nothing, you don't get a regular supply of dreamers, you have to create ones yourself… Twenty people is all it takes, twenty people can bring the whole country down in a month, if they know what they're doing. The daime would crawl on his knees and ask for mercy. Wouldn't even need to be carried. Why do sporadic attacks, why take hostages? The conditions here are simply ideal: there's constant trade, the sea lines are isolated. Destroy a ship every week, no risk involved, all your fighters alive, daime is crazy with fear. And he is also an idiot. He'll just raise taxes. The people would start the revolution themselves. Then you come in. You tell them that you'll help, you'll take care of them, we'll get rid of your cruel and unreasonable leader. The crowd will grab the first axe they find and follow you to hell. You stop the attacks, everybody is happy, the country is yours.  
Orochimaru describes three more plans, each one more elaborate then the previous one. Finally he runs out of steam.  
— Idiots, what a bunch of idiots… And to die before you enemy does… I'm certainly not planning to. Even if I had to, I wouldn't. Never. Not before I get to see the rotting bones and be sure. Well, actually, I wouldn't fight in the first place.  
— How so? — Sasori is interested.  
— Why would I work with such a raw material? I'd collect my own, I'd shape it the way I like, destroy the useless pieces.  
— Indeed, — Sasori agrees.

Or another one about death. After a mission, nearby a shitty tent, the wind is cold and cruel. Orochimaru should sleep, but he is too curious: Sasori took two bodies, he has a thing for Kekkei Genkei, and currently is dissecting them to make them into puppets. So Orochimaru stands behind him, looking over his shoulder, blinking occasionally.  
— How does it go? — He asks. — They have no consiousness? Nothing left of the owner, of the personality?  
— What's pesonality?  
— Desires, will, ambitions, thoughts… Experience, after all.  
— No, it isn't needed. Well, sometimes I can preserve the experience, the battle experience… This way the puppet is nearly independent. Requires much less control. Can run on reflexes…  
— A pity. — Orochimaru sighs.  
— A pity? Who do you pity? These? Are you not well? — Sasori turns to face him.  
Orochimare waves him away with an annoyed gesture. He looks pale and… quiet. Ah, it got to him again, Sasori understands.  
Death bothers them both. For different reasons. Orochimaru attempts to explain his so many times, always failing. The vanishing of the «I». Dissolution. Nothingness. He knows a lot of words that describe it. Sasori only has a vague understanding of his concerns. They are not his own. Sasori is fine with vanishing, but if he dies, the world continues, the world lives, people make their stupid choices, everything is wrong if he isn't there, if he doesn't control it all. What is the purpose of his work if it's simply gone with him, if nothing changes? No, he wants to stay till the very end, he wants to witness the sea consuming the land, the sun burning the sea, destroying all life. And nothing escapes perfection. Orochimaru only does his philosophical babble.  
The same now, he waves him away and says:  
— Of course, not these… Do they even have a personality? I'm only sorry for an actual person. When it was there and then it is gone in an instant. And all the past, and all the future with it…  
Sasori shrugs:  
— How do you sleep with that on your mind?  
— Excuse me? — Orochimaru sounds confused.  
— Well, I don't remember it very well, but when you fall asleep you vanish. You were there and then you're gone. Or, say, anesthesia. That is if you're talking about your precious consciousness again…  
— You really don't remember, do you? Dummy.  
His voice isn't angry, it is actually soft and somewhat pained, so Sasori doesn't take offence.  
The mess under his hands squelchs.  
— It's different… Your personality doesn't disappear in the dream. To disappear, Sasori, to vanish is something entirely different. Even if it is only a bit of you. Even the smallest part. I don't want it.  
— So it doesn't matter how, you just want to stay?  
— Yes. Even if I am not… whole. Well, I'd love to stay as a whole, certainly. But if I can't, a single piece would suffice. You can grow it back, you know. Can't reappear from nothing.  
— And what's the point? Okay, you're sitting there, a single thought in your head, inside some tiny… bird or something…  
— A dummy.  
— Or in a dummy, right. Sitting and thinking: I want Hokage dead and Konoha destroyed. And master all the techniques. What's the point, seriosly? A bird is only a bird. Isn't it… torture? Hokage is long gone, his grandchildren tore the village into pieces, and you're trapped in a bird. Does the fact that you're conscious make you feel any better?  
— Well, Sasori, you definitely think very little of me.  
— I know, I know, nobody plans to sit in a bird. But if it happens?  
Orochimaru is silent. Sasori gets up and throws intestines into the pit.  
— It is still better in a bird. Better than nothing, that is. Still is.  
Sasori almost touches his nape, but remembers in time that his hands are covered in blood up to the elbows.  
— Alright, — he says. — I'll do it.  
— Hm?  
— You're too valuable to just become nothing. I'll make a dummy for you, if it makes you happy.  
Orochimaru smiles at him and then yawns.  
— Pardon me. It's getting late. I am off to bed.  
— You go.  
— But thank you.  
— Anything for a partner.  
— Well, then wake me up at six. I need a wash, there's a creek nearby.  
Sasori nods.  
Orochimaru falls asleep in a second. His breathing is steady as always. Like a clockwork.  
Not a bad thought, Sasori thinks. Orochimaru, a living puppet. Let's say I die. Unlikely, but let's just say so. Then I have nothing to worry about, he'll keep an eye on everything. On perfection. Orochimaru isn't sloppy. Especially when it is about perfection.  
Not a bad thought indeed.

Or the only one about sex.  
It is also a distrubing thing. Orochimaru may very well be perfect, but who knows, he is still human. So Sasori gets anxious every time he thinks about it.  
Orochimaru is reserved, but he is also… sensual. He doesn't turn down anything, neither politics, which appall Sasori, nor bathing in foam. This puzzles Sasori: why would he bother? He doesn't even smell, which is pure delight: Sasori has to use his nose to work with poisons, so it is quite sensitive. Orochimaru loves a good fight, but what he also lovess is to try a new dish. Sasori tried to bug him about it, thinking about all the changes he'd made to his metabolism and the pills that he invented years ago, the ones you can take once a month and forget about food completely. Orochimaru didn't engage, he only tapped a tune on Sasori's wooden hand and told him it wasn't appropriate to express jealosy so openly. Orochimaru appreciates imaginative techniques — and also clothing and jewelry. The only thing he does turn down is alcohol: he prefers his mind clear, to drink just for the sake of it or, even worse, for pleasure or relaxation — that is disgusting to him.  
But thay had been partners for more than a year at that time and Orochimaru never visited a brothel, never harrassed women in hotels or shops, never muttered suddenly «don't finish this one off, I'll have my fun and do it myself». He didn't do anything that other people Sasori had met did.  
Nevertheless, Sasori isn't very eager to ask.  
Orochimaru starts the talk himself. He returns from yet another session of blackmail in a good mood, there's a sly smile playing on his lips when he sits on the couch. He waits for Sasori to look at him and says:  
— Our client's wife, she has geisha shinobies. Brother and sister.  
— So?  
— They are beautiful and extremely dangerous, is there anything better? It is a pity there aren't as many around nowadays. These are my first.  
— Were there many before? I remember nothing like that and you aren't much older…  
— Neither do I. It's Kakuzu, he told me once that when he was young they taught you more than just to fight. The idea was that everything in shinobi should be perfect. I tried to ask him about what exactly they were taught, calligraphy or whatnot, but you know how he is, old bastard, he just shut his mouth tight and never said another word.  
Sasori nods and Orochimaru continues:  
— So today was my lucky day! Learned everything I wanted. It is their family tradition, there're maybe three or four more families like this, the ones who still practice the art. The product, of course, never makes it to the regular villages, they're too precious. And it's everything one could wish for. Oh, you should've seen the techniques! Almost everyone has Kekkei Genkai. And they dance, they speak several languages, they play music. They even do calligraphy. And sex.  
Orochimaru talks for twenty more minutes, but Sasori is hardly listening to him, he is too worried to: is this it, he thinks. Will the perfect statue collapse? Will Orochimaru turn out to be like the others, will he abandon everything for sex? Orochimaru talks and talks, almost reverently, and then the moment comes and Sasori just snaps:  
— Wait, stop, — he interrupts.  
— Yes? What?  
— Do you want to… have sex with them?  
Orochimaru eyes him in surprise:  
— Why do you ask? Such a strange question.  
— Is it? You definitely sound excited.  
— Nonsense. I was excited when I told you about Second's technique. Did you think that I wanted to dig him out of his grave? And fight him? Or fuck him?  
Sasori is almost embarrassed:  
— I am not talking about techniques… It's sex, people are… too interested in it. Always are.  
Orochimaru chuckles:  
— You must have cut something important off, forgive me for putting it bluntly.  
Sasori did cut everything off. It isn't actually important. He didn't do it on purpose, he wasn't experienced enough: at fifteen he knew how to perfect himself, but genitals were only a part of the excretory system, which he didn't need. He didn't know a thing about sex. It is only when he reached the age of twenty three he gave it a second thought. But it didn't go far: the people around him went to brothels, harrassed women and suddenly told him in a breathless, hoarse voice not to kill this one just yet. He felt revulsion every time, so he left things as they were. There was no need to have genitals. It wasn't even a loss. A truly useless thing.  
— The things you think of me, Sasori! What am I, a dog in heat? — Orochimaru sounds indignant.  
— You are not, — Sasori answers readily. — And this is exactly what surprises me.  
Orochimaru looks at him, confusion on his face, and then starts laughing:  
— Oh, you know how to stun a person dead, Sasori! I am fourty six, believe it or not… I am not saying I am no longer capable, but you can't expect me to follow every skirt around. Or every pants. I've already tried almost everything I ever wanted to. Multiple times. Really, it is easier to say what I haven't.  
— And what? — Sasori asks. He doesn't know why.  
Orochimaru gives him an answer, he is calm, as if it is something he gets asked about every day:  
— Not much… Well, you might be onto something: if the opportunity arose I'd probably get into it. For some time… It just wasn't the case.  
He is silent for several seconds.  
— Funny, really not much. Never fucked a Hyuga. I'd love to, they are interesting, in a fight too, I mean, but so uptight, so traditional. Never touched my… experiments. Probably shouldn't start, anyway. Never had sex with somebody who has an artificial body. I've seen this technique once, really fascinating, when a body is created from various materials, not like a clone, though, different, because you can see the texture… Or Konan and her papers. Or your puppets… Never slept with anybody from the Stone village. Met hundreds of them, liked none. But I am hopeful, so brace yourself: I find anybody attractive enough and goodbye, Sasori, — he finishes, chuckling again.

And then there's that argument about surgery Sasori is particulary fond of. Oh, they had many, but that one was truly special: the mission went bad, there was damage. Sasori himself was fine, he only lost two puppets — good puppets, so still annoying — but Orochimaru needed surgery.  
Yes, that's right. To crack Orocimaru's rib cage open, to stick his wooden fingers inside, clamp and tie his blood vessels, sew the muscles together, just mess around — it all was needed. He did it, listening to Orochimaru's bickering — he insisted on staying awake for the procedure. Sasori almost got offended, he wouldn't tolerate such a distrust, but, of course, it wasn't about that, Orochimaru was simply curious.  
But the argument, the argument was just lovely. Nothing could spoil it, not even the breaks they had to take — Orochimaru was in considerable pain, after all. He lied on his back, his cloak tucked underneath his neck (politeness, Sasori realised: one should face his interlocutor, not count the starts on the sky), and called Sasori's methods childish just to spite him. Sasori moved his instruments with great precision, snapping back at him and pressing his fingers into the wound for proper convincing. Orochimaru only laughed at that, of course. The clash was about the kidneys. Orochimaru turned out to be right, but Sasori wasn't upset: there were many interesting things inside Orochimaru. Especially so when you have the owner to answer your questions.  
They were excellent partners. They were close, they knew each other. Sasori understood the importance of that surgery. There isn't a person you can trust more that your friend who you cut into with a scalpel. Or that another situation, it was important too, when Orochimaru was down right generous, helping him to destroy the vile things from his past. And then covering for him, lying shamelessly to the Leader. Good old trustworthy things. Share your food, share a fight, an illness, a bed.  
They did share a bed. Only once, few months before Itachi joined the group.  
It starts in yet another restaurant of local cuisine Orochimaru is so drawn to. He is eating his greenish soup, looking so discreet, and Sasori stares at him thinking of poisons. The ones which could kill Orochimaru and the ones which couldn't.  
Suddenly Orochimaru stops and looks at something behind Sasori's back, then smiles, puts away his spoon and says:  
— Well, Sasori-san, today you have the honour to witness something long expected.  
— What? — he asks grimly. There aren't that many poisons which would work on Orochimaru. He isn't planning to kill him, not really, but again it seems that Orochimaru's work was more thorough than his own.  
— You have the honour to witness the wildness of my sexuality.  
Orochimaru is smiling, so Sasori turns to look in the direction his head is poiting. He sees Stone shinobies, quite many of them.  
— Joking aside, — Orochimaru continues, — I hope you have no objections: can't but try my luck.  
— Go ahead, — Sasori says: apparently, Orochimaru's sexuality will be as polite as the man is. Perfect.  
Orochimaru pays for his soup and leaves. Sasori goes back to the hotel and summons six of his puppets. The room is going to be at his disposal all night, and it is always useful to apply more grease.  
But nothing is that simple. Orochimaru returns after fourty minutes, visibly frustrated.  
— So fast? — Sasori tries to conceal his surprise a bit.  
— No. Bad luck again. What a ludicrous village! As if not a single pleasant person was ever produced there…  
Orochimaru sits down, pulling one of the puppets to sit in his lap, still clearly upset.  
— Wait a moment, I'll put it away, — Sasori says.  
— You do that, — Orochimaru replies thoughtfully, and then adds: — Or, actually, don't.  
Sasori looks at him, not quite understanding.  
— You know, Sasori, we should have sex. I sincerely believe so. Not to let the Stone ruin my evening. What do you think? — he speaks slowly. Once he's finished he lowers his chin onto the puppet's shoulder.  
Sasori considers the offer for some time. Then he agrees and immediately asks:  
— How do you think we should do that?  
— How do you want it?  
— I don't want it.  
Orochimaru chuckles and shakes his head.  
— I know that, but you're looking at it the wrong way. Consider it an experiment. I won't interfere, you can control the whole thing. Have you ever thought about having a puppet show?  
What ensues next is exactly a puppet show, there is no other word for it.  
Orochimaru quickly undresses — and then doesn't interfere. Well, no, of course he offers advice, generously so, and advice is needed, it seems: in the matter of minutes Sasori realises how vague his concept of sex was. But Orochimaru doesn't resist anything, he follows instructions readily.  
Soon his full attention is on the process: Orochimaru's body is interesting not only on the inside, so Sasori uses all six puppets. It looks bizarre to say the least, but Orochimaru smiles happily, hisses and groans in pleasure. And also tells him that it is how sex is supposed to be, everything is correct, so carry on, Sasori, no need to stop.  
When his moans grow deeper Orochimaru asks him to undress.  
Sasori hesitates:  
— Why?  
Orochimaru shrugs. Well, he attempts to, but his arms are fixated by the puppets, so it is only a hint of a movement. Sasori recognizes it anyway.  
— Why? So that I can have a look. Would only be fair.  
It really would be, so Sasori takes his clothes off, even the bandages on the calves. Orochimaru's mouth falls agape when he takes off his pants, he looks intently at his empty groin.  
— Well, that's how it is, — he breathes out sharply and then adds: — Come closer.  
Sasori does, and Orochimaru just falls on his knees with so much force, the puppets following him down with a loud noise, and then his long wet tongue touches the smooth wood between his legs. And once more.  
Orochimaru groans abruptly and shudders. Sasori, of course, doesn't get it right away, but few seconds pass and Orochimaru informs him:  
— This is it. We're done… Remove the puppets, will you?

And Sasori trusts him, trusts him with everything. Not because of the surgery, not because of his help, not because of sex, certainly not, though he knows it all was important. He trusts him simply because it is impossible not to. Impossible not to trust an ideal partner. Ideal man. Why won't you trust him? Why would you spend your precious time on such a useless thing?  
He can't even imagine this trust undermined. Ever.  
But then Itachi joines Akatsuki and everything changes.  
Orochimaru severs the connection — they had a meeting — and his eyes are glittering and mad. Sasori can't fathom why and disregards it. A mistake.  
Because in a week Orochimaru comes at Itachi, assualts him. Boldly, with no excuse.  
And after that no day goes by without him hearing about sharingan, sharingan, sharingan.  
It's only few days before Orochimaru leaves them when Sasori just explodes:  
— So what?! What's so special about this bloody sharingan?  
Orochimaru stares at him as if it is Sasori who's gone insane, but still answers:  
— You never understand, Sasori, never.  
He doesn't. He only sees that there is something wrong with Orochimaru, with the perfect man Orochimaru he knew. He cannot fix it, though. Orochimaru, sadly, is a man, with his own desires, will, ambitions, his own personality, and not a puppet controlled by his skilled fingers.  
Orochimaru leaves. Sasori proceeds to accompany Itachi of all people to convince a boy from the Stone village to join them — the irony is Orochimaru probably would have liked him. And then, very soon, actually, he sends a spy after Orochimaru.  
He could trust Orochimaru. Orochimaru, who was fierce and ruthless, and a very dangerous potential enemy, who could plan many moves ahead, that Orochimaru he could trust with anything, not just to leave the Akatsuki, but the whole world if he were to die. But this new Orochimaru, this new one he wouldn't trust even with a single finger of the shittiest puppet.


End file.
